


Keiyaku

by Emmaekaywrites



Category: Dragon Ball, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmaekaywrites/pseuds/Emmaekaywrites
Summary: Keiyaku was originally created for a Tumblr festival thingy called The Prince & The Heiress Vegebul Smutfest. This work is complete, short, and full of smut! Every chapter contains a sex scene. Innocent eyes beware!





	1. The Butterfly

AN: I don’t really write a whole helluva lot of smut – and this is my first time participating in the @tpthvegebulsmutfest! I actually don’t usually write fics, despite the fact that I write for a living. Constructive criticism welcome! 

Keiyaku is set in an AU where King Vegeta led a successful uprising against the Colds immediately after Prince Vegeta’s birth and takes place on Vegetasei. Also I feel like Shenron probably isn’t canonically strong enough to do what I have him do, but c’mon. Don’t @ me.

Day One – The Butterfly

“Fasting proposals are important, Vegeta! You will attend to this.” The King’s voice boomed after his son, rocking the door on its hinges as it smacked the wall. “You will.”

“I do not wish,” the prince spat, “now or ever, to entertain the whims of this kingdom, or of my father, or of a gaggle of women who have built me up in their minds to be some kind of fantasy –“ His rant was cut off, as his father – much the taller, still the stronger man, closed his grip around his son’s throat.

“I do not care, Vegeta. You – will – do – this.” The King voice was now low, quiet and deadly. “Never have I stood between you and your fate. Never have I kept you here on Vegetasei, even when I should. I have let you battle for your people, for your honor, and for your own power. You have never answered to this kingdom, or to me, and I have let you run the galaxy as a wild thing.” He released his grip, letting his son’s boots retouch the ground. “This is not a whim. This is of the utmost importance now.”

“…why?” Prince Vegeta rasped through swollen throat. “Why is this so important, and why now?” He narrowed his eyes, and for the first time since coming back to his birth planet, really studied his father’s face. He was dark with anger, brows furrowed so like his own, but underneath… something else. Something primal. Something… something like fear.

“You will do this. And it will begin today.” The King turned, red cloak whipping behind him. “Your choices are there – on the table – you will choose three to meet with, today. And if those three are lacking, you will choose three tomorrow, and you will choose three to meet with every day until you find a women who will tolerate your capriciousness, your cruelty, and your life. And make her someone you can be loyal to for the rest of that life – royal infidelity is still punishable by death.”

And the discussion was over, abused door shut creaking behind the King as he stomped away. Vegeta was left, sore and furious, but bewildered enough now to comply. He trudged over to the table, to the black leather folders on it, to see if there were any women in this universe that were worth fasting.

What he needed was a woman who liked danger, adventure, and sex for breakfast. What he needed was a woman who could hold his attention for longer than a romp in the sack. He began to flip through the folders – saiyan women that all looked like him, like his mother, like his father. They wouldn’t mind the life he could offer them, but what could they give him but more of the same?

Bulma Briefs was pissed. Pissed and drunk. Pissed, and drunk, and she had dragon balls.

“I’ll ssshow him. I will! I’ll summon Ssshenron ‘nd have him neuter that Yamcha! Err I’ll wish for a better man. Or sumthin’! Sumthin,” she slurred, aloud and to no one. Bulma caught Yamcha, again, ogling some other woman’s … assets… as she’d been trying to ask him to move in with her! She wanted to take their relationship to the next level, and he wasn’t going to ask her to marry him anytime soon. This was her “meet me in the middle” compromise. And he couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention.

After that, Bulma had come home to crawl inside a bottle of rum. And then she decided to use the dragon balls to get her revenge.

“Rise Shenron, and grant me my wish!”

The sky darkened, deeply bruised against the setting sun, and from the gathered dragon balls, Shenron’s familiar form sprang up. “WHAT IS YOUR WISH?”

“Gimme uhhh,” she thought. What do I want? Do I want Yamcha hurt? Not… really, I guess. I want… to be wanted. I want a man who would kill for me. I want danger and adventure and more than anything, I want a man who won’t look at anyone but me.

“SPEAK YOUR WISH.”

“Take me to a man who needs me as badly as I need him! A man that will rock my world in bed and never betray me! Take me to the man I’m destined to be with!”

“YOUR WISH IS GRANTED.”

In a blink of nothing, everything Bulma had ever known was replaced by everything she never knew she wanted. A pile of her clothes fluttered to the ground, and that was the last impact she ever made on the Earth.

“Get the fuck off me!” Vegeta jumped up from the couch and doing so, dislodged the woman from his lap and onto the fasting candidate folders on the low table. She’d appeared from nowhere, totally nude, to sprawl across his lap. “Who the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in here?”

This is a dream, Bulma thought drunkenly. I’m dreaming that I wished for Shenron to transport me to the man of my wildest fantasies. Might as well live it up!

“My name is Bulma Briefs and I want you to fuck me.”

Vegeta flushed bright red from his eyebrows to the tip of his stirring cock. Nappa. He sent up a whore, knowing that today I’m sealing my doom. He smirked. Where ever Nappa found her, he had to have paid a fortune. She was in pristine condition and her coloring was incredible – the softest blue hair, like the skies of those foreign planets he plundered for fun. Her skin was the creamest, milkiest white he’d ever seen. She looked like the rarest breed of Saiyan possible – everything was perfectly formed, but delicate where Saiyan women were robust. Her round breasts looked like they were exactly enough to fill his mouth… or his hands… or both. He felt his fingers twitch unbidden, as he imagined what she might feel like writhing under his hands.

“I want you,” Bulma said again, laying back on the table, “to fuck me. Hard and deep, until I forget every other man in the universe. I want you to bury yourself inside me and cum as hard as you can.” She looked up at the man over the top of her breasts. “Fuck me.”

Fine. Vegeta thought. One last conquest before the prince must be caged for all his days. He stripped his pants off, whipped his shirt over his head. “Vulgar woman.”

At the sound of his voice, Bulma felt her wetness start to slide down her thighs. Oh, that voice. Like velvet and sandpaper, like freedom and dominion, like her wildest dreams come true. “You have no idea… how vulgar I can be. What should I call you?”

“Vegeta,” he breathed as he stood over her, erection hard and hot at her entrance. “My name is Vegeta.”

Bulma raised her long legs straight up into the air and rested her ankles on the man’s broad shoulders. He was the perfect height – the perfect everything. His body was chiseled from granite, every muscle bulging and straining against his velveteen skin. His chest was marked by scars, and it rose and fell rapidly as his excitement grew. She couldn’t see his erection, but she could feel the tip against her. Thick and hot. She pressed herself against it, ready to envelop him and feel him filling her from the inside. He angled his erection up, away from her entrance, to lay heavily on the most sensitive bit of her womanhood.

“Not so fast, woman.” He spoke again, and dipped his body low on top of hers. As he moved, his cock slid along her clitoris, sending thrills through her body and spiking her nipples hard in seconds. He took one nipple in his mouth and cupped her other breast in his hand, squeezing roughly. He rolled his tongue against her nipple and Bulma’s back arched against the table underneath her as she whimpered. “Ohh!”

Vegeta pulled his hips back and rocked them forward again, and again, moving slickly across her most sensitive spot. “How does that feel? You’re making a mess of my table,” he growled against her chest, nipping her breast with sharp teeth as he spoke. “Tell me how much you want me.”

Bulma cried out again, feeling the pressure building between her hips. “Ohh! Oh, Vegeta, it feels incredible. I’m – I’m going – Ahhnn!” She shook underneath him as he reached down with one hand to furiously rub her swollen sex and she came around his fingers. Not waiting for her to recover, Vegeta used his hand to guide his member into her and Bulma brought her hips off the table to slam into him. He straightened his back to stand over her, supporting her legs on his chest as he moved inside her.

She was glorious underneath him. Pretty face flushed red, bottom lip sucked in to her mouth, white teeth biting down on it seductively. With every thrust inside her, her breast bounced and swung. Perfect pink nipples – the right one ringed by marks from his teeth. He could smell her sweet arousal. She smelled delicious when she came around his hand. Like honey and vanilla – sticky, sweet. He licked her juices off his fingers as he swung into her again, again. He felt himself nearing the climax and she began to shake underneath him, breathing his name and little oh – oh – oh sounds like a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery. He laid his chest flat on hers and buried his face in her neck, opening his mouth to graze her soft neck with his teeth as the tension in his cock released.

He came hard inside her, feeling his manhood jump and empty. She shrieked in his ear as he bit down into her neck, drawing blood. But her shriek was in pleasure and she grabbed his ass and shoved him hard into her as she reached another shattering orgasm.

This is the best dream sex I’ve ever had! Bulma thought

She was the best he’d ever had, Vegeta admitted, as he pulled away from her and helped her to a sitting position atop the folders of women who looked like his mother, who were waiting to be summoned to his quarters to be evaluated for compatibility and tolerance to his whims and his cruel nature. Long meetings and probably a few physical battles and a host of stupid traditions as he attempted to frighten them off and they attempted to tolerate him. Unless…

“I will get you some clothing and you will bathe. After which you will be presented to my father, the King, as my chosen women for the Life Fasting.”

Bulma pinched herself on a tired thigh. Once, twice, three times – but it appeared she wasn’t dreaming after all. She had just fucked a complete stranger and now it sounded like she was going to be his wife.


	2. Capricorn

Bulma found herself in an enormous shower. Three shower heads - two on opposite walls, one directly above her head. She cranked them up, full blast, and tried to clear the rocks out of her head. 

 

What had she done? 

– his hand between her thighs, rubbing in fast, hard circles as he pumped in and out of her, stretching and filling her in a way she’d never felt before –

The color drained from Bulma’s face as she remembered the way she’d lain back and begged for it. Bulma Briefs had never begged for anything a day in her life, and now, she was mortified. 

 

“Woman.”

Bulma could only yelp in response. 

“There are clothes here for you to choose from. When you are done cleansing, I will take you to see the king and queen. What is your biological origin?”

“My what??”

“Your origin. What planet did the whorehouse obtain you from?”

“THE WHAT??” Bulma slammed her hands down on the taps and burst from the shower. “Look here you sunuva bitch! I am not a whore! I have never been inside a whorehouse! I am Bulma Briefs, the most brilliant and sought after heiress on the planet Earth - now where the fuck am I?”

Vegeta blushed again, reddening deeply through the cheeks and trying to look anywhere other than at the dripping woman screaming at him, tits bouncing on her words and the bright blue of her bush glittering wetly.

“NAPPA!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing his head back for full volume and carriage. 

Bulma snatched a long strip of red cloth off the bench where the screaming prince had thrown it and many other fabrics. She wound it around herself like a sari, tucking the final fold as the largest man she’d ever seen walked right into the shower room without knocking.

“Yeah, Vegeta?” The bald man stood a minimum of 9 feet tall, was at least 4 feet wide and bald as an egg. A big, ugly talking egg that stared at her hungrily. “Vegeta! Nice. Niiiiiiiice.” Bulma clung to her makeshift sari a little tighter. 

“Nappa. Have you ever seen this woman before?”

“No, Vegeta. But -”

“Nappa. Did you arrange for a whore to be sent to me?”

“No, Vegeta. But who the hell is sh-”

“Nappa. That is all. Wait in my chamber outside. I have something to discuss with you.”

Now, Vegeta turned to Bulma. “How the fuck did you get in here? Who sent you? Be very, very careful about your answer… spies are put to death immediately upon discovery on my planet.” His eyes were dark and they shone with a predatory glint. The air between them crackled with electricity.

Bulma stood her ground, balling her fists up at her sides. He still hadn’t answered her question, and she was afraid. Fear combined with some internal strength presented itself now as rage. “My name. Is Bulma Briefs,” she spat. “You will answer my question. Where – the – fuck – am I?”

Vegeta leaned forward on the balls of his feet, glaring at the woman. Her chest was puffed out, hands on her hips. The red kulthan was wrapped completely incorrectly around her, leaving most of her body still exposed – long legs, slender arms, creamy back and chest so white against the blood red fabric. She looked murderous, enraged, and he wondered if she were a queen of some civilization he’d yet to plunder. He wondered if she yet had a king. She was definitely not Saiyan – her physical weakness was clear to see – yet she had a different power he couldn’t help but respond to.

“You are in Asket, in the royal house of the Prince of all Saiyans, where you appeared without clothing and without shame and were possibly mistaken for a whore. Your turn. What is your birthplace? How the fuck did you get into my house, into my chamber, without warning? You do not have the ki available in your tiny form to manage the Instant Transmission of the Yardrats.”

Bulma gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to slap the dark prince. “I am from the planet Earth. I … have you ever heard of dragon balls?”

“On Namek, the village elders guard wishing orbs sometimes referred to as dragon balls.”

“Well. Those sound similar to ours. You gather them up and get a wish. I wished for… something… and ended up here.”

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow, high up into his thick black hair. “Something? You wished for something – what?”

“Something that brought me here, somewhat unwillingly and very surprisingly.” Bulma’s jaw jutted into a pout and she crossed her arms over her chest, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

Vegeta, for his part, didn’t much care. He was used to the universe at large providing for his needs, and he had need of a woman just now. “Well, Bulma Briefs, whatever you wished for, you will now play into what I wish for: Freedom. Freedom at all costs,” he sat on the long bench, right on top of the clothes, one fist tightened in his lap. “It seems I’m about to have an empire thrust upon me, with all its titles and never ending meetings about peasant problems, trapped planetside the rest of my life. There is nothing I hate more than to be told what to do - and I have been told, on pain of death, to select a woman to be life fasted to, immediately.”

“Life fasted,” Bulma choked out, “I assume that means –“

“Exactly what it sounds like. To be fasted to someone for life – to take a permanent companion – to select a being to…” he stopped. “To… tolerate until you die. Does your civilization not have this custom?” Vegeta said, with the barest hint of hope. Maybe they did not have this, maybe he could apply to her for asylum – clearly she was like himself, royal and with power over her people.

“We have it,” she shrugged and his face fell. “We call it marriage.”

“Do your people also put those unwilling to pair off to death?”

“Of course not!” Bulma snorted. “I can’t believe that any one does!”

“The royal birthrate here is very low. We have too few Saiyan people of breeding temperament, in general, and Saiyan women do not carry a child until they wish to. An edict was passed after my birth that all Saiyan royalty aged 30 and above will pair and procreate. My father the king has made it understood that if I do not do this, I will be put to death.” Vegeta sighed, pulling a hand straight up through his spiky mane. “I will reach the age of 30 soon and I do not wish for the honorless death promised me. Also, I do not wish to comply with this order.”

Bulma sat next to him on the bench. Vegeta’s hands were balled into fists and he was staring away, into the middle distance, as if he had been speaking to himself all that time. She suddenly pitied him. He looked like a caged thing, an animal trapped and seeking an escape before his captors came for him. He looked afraid, and angry, and afraid. Before she could stop herself, Bulma laid her hand on top of his fist.

“For whatever reason,” she began, “I’m here… with you. I don’t really understand…” she hesitated, as his fist began to barely tremble below her soft hand. “I don’t really understand what’s going on. But I do recognize the face of someone furious with their fate. I do know how that feels. I,” Bulma swallowed, already regretting what she was about to say, but unable to stop herself from saying it, “I am willing to help you, if I can.”

Bulma knew the prince already had a plan for her, based on his earlier demand that she make herself ready to meet the king and queen.

Vegeta opened his fist. “It was not my intention to force you into a fasting with me. I intend to present you as my choice to the king and queen. When they disapprove of my choice, the law states that I am free again for 5 years. They will,” he scoffed, “disapprove wholeheartedly of you.” Bulma attempted to snatch her hand back, offended at the idea that she was somehow not good enough for … well, for anything. Bulma knew herself to be the best of the best. In a flash, though, Vegeta closed his hand around hers.

“You’re weak as a newborn babe. You’re of a strange, dubious origin. You are not colored, nor built, like a Saiyan. You could not stand up for yourself in the antefasting battle. This is not,” Vegeta said softly, “an insult. It is only true.”

All of Bulma’s womanly pride rose up at this, and even to her own surprise, she found herself snatching her hand away from his grasp and slamming open palmed into his chest. Off guard, Vegeta leaned backward and Bulma pressed him down into the bench. “I’ll show you weak,” she growled and pressed herself into him, trapping his thighs between hers/ “I’ll show you who can’t stand up for herself.” She took his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking the flesh away from his mouth and biting down.

She straddled his waist and felt him harden underneath her. Suddenly very aware that she had no panties on, she could feel him straining against the skin tight pants he wore. She pressed her nails into his bare chest as she pinned him down, moving her mouth against his. Not sweetly, but roughly – a battle, to shut him up, to defend her honor. Bulma had been called a lot of things in her life, but weak was never one of them. It offended her to the core and woke something in her blood.

Vegeta lay underneath her, too shocked to do anything but allow his body to respond to her. That, he couldn’t help. His cock was already fully erect and she was grinding her body against it as he raised his hips and dropped his hands to tug his pants off and set himself free. Her mouth on his was incredible – she was furious with him, biting his lip, his chin, his neck as her hips rocked against him. Something animal had taken over her and he realized: he’d offended her pride and this was how she would fight him for it.

Bulma reached down between their bodies and took him in her hand. She turned away from him, still on top and the spin of her finger tips on his swollen member drew a deep growl from his chest, “Oh – fuck.” The pressure of her slick, wet walls around him came suddenly. He opened his eyes to see her beautiful, round ass grinding against him. The soft white slope of her back, her elegant neck and those soft, bright blue strands of hair, all moving in unison as she rose and fell against him, riding him roughly. He lay back, one hand gripping her creamy flesh, the other underneath his own head. She ground her hips against his, swiveling her body in circles as she rode him. Her muscles tight, slick with her arousal but so tight around him as he groaned with mindless pleasure.

“Ah!” Bulma cried out as he rocked his hips, forcing himself deeper inside her. She was close, so close now, and she rode him faster. She could feel a bruise starting to rise on her ass as he gripped her harder – he was close now, too. She dug her fingernails into the steely sinew of his thighs and threw her head back as she came around him and he drove up into her one final time in furious release herself. She lay back onto his chest with him still inside her and she sighed. “Who’s… weak… now?” she panted.

He lifted her off him easily and set her on the bench beside him. He shook his head, grinning, “You’re crazy.” Bulma, grinning herself, just asked him, “Say, do you guys have underwear on this planet?”

And Vegeta’s grin exploded into laughter.


	3. Tornado

Day 3 – Tornado

“And so, Nappa, that is my plan.” Vegeta summarized for his subordinate, with a self-satisfied smile as he leaned back into the plush couch in his sitting room.

“But Vegeta,” Nappa began, “What if they call your bluff? And why is your father so insistent on this happening now? He has never indicated illness, weakness or abdication, not to me. You still have many moon cycles before your 30th sun cycle, and many royals don’t even begin the selection process until their last moon.”

Vegeta glowered darkly. Nappa had known his father longer, and had fought with him in many campaigns during the Cold War. He had hoped that the older man would be able to tell him why his father was threatening him into a fasting. “If they call my bluff, I guess she dies.”

“You guess?”

“I guess.”

Nappa studied the prince, still in his estimation quite a young Saiyan. A young Saiyan who Nappa had watched battle his way across the galaxy in tournaments and death matches, and in great battles as a general in his father’s army. Vegeta had lived his life like a true Saiyan – fighting for honor and riches and the sheer exhilaration of it. He had often killed and twice nearly died, yet never had Nappa seen his face twist up into such a grimace as it did when Vegeta said I guess she dies.

“Vegeta, are you attached to this woman already?”

The grimace left Vegeta’s face, immediately replaced by a look of utter contempt and shock, his brows high into the widow’s peak of his hair and mouth agape. “Shut up, Nappa.”

***

Bulma emerged from her second shower of the day to find a tall, well-muscled woman waiting for her, with lengths of fabric in her arms and various gold and silver trinkets laid out on the bench that just a while ago held her own, and Vegeta’s , naked body.

“His Highness the Prince Vegeta bade me come and teach you the appropriate manner of dress before your meeting with the King and Queen,” the woman said, handing Bulma a fluffy cloth that she assumed was, and she used as, a towel.

“Oh,” Bulma said. “Well, thanks, I guess?”

“The Prince said you were unable to arrange your kulthan so that it would remain on your body properly.”

Bulma couldn’t help but laugh at that. Sure, she thought, blame the kul-thingy. “Well, I appreciate the opportunity to learn. Thank you.” Bulma walked a few steps toward the woman, the fabrics and the trinkets. The woman held out the fabrics for Bulma to see and feel, so she could choose whatever she liked best. Bulma selected a liquid smooth gold fabric that was very like silk – maybe it was silk, who knows.

The dressing woman nodded her head with a slight smile. “I would have chosen that for you. Your taste is appropriate. Your coloring is … rare.” 

“Is it? Are there no women here with bright hair or eyes?” Bulma wondered aloud. It was true – the dressing woman’s coloring was like Vegeta’s. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin several shades darker than her own. Her hair was thick, like Vegeta’s, and stuck out in spikes.

“No, all Saiyans have black hair and eyes.”

“Saiyans? Is that what you call yourselves?”

“Yes. As a people, we are Saiyans. As a person, I am Beri.”

“Beri, that’s a lovely name. I’m Bulma!” Bulma smiled at the dressing woman, at Beri, and felt herself breathe a little easier. At least she had a friend. “What planet are we on?”

Beri’s eyebrows drew up, but she didn’t vocalize her surprise. She had helped many of Asket’s strange visitors, and Vegeta’s were always the strangest. His penchant for intergalactic travel far and wide often lead to him bringing odd men and women back to the royal residence, which she then needed to make decent before turning them loose on the royal court, or official feasts, or even just in town. “We’re on Vegetasei.”

“Vegetasei,” Bulma repeated. “As in Vegeta.” 

“Yes. The firstborn son of the royal house is always called Vegeta. The Prince Vegeta was named after his father, the King Vegeta, who is the 112th King in the line of Kings.”

“Guess that keeps the monuments accurate!” Bulma quipped, holding a green fabric up to her chest. No, the gold, I think. She placed the green fabric back on the pile, and Beri nodded imperceptibly, but approvingly. 

“Shall I teach you how to wear it?”

***

Beri had finally answered the question of underwear, and the answer was – not really. The Saiyans wore form fitting suits to train or to battle, and the suits were outfitted with protective… accoutrements in tender areas. For all other modes of dress, the Saiyans either wore tiny form fitting shorts under their clothes, or nothing at all. Bulma didn’t like the shorts and she really didn’t want to walk around going commando.

“Beri, is there a small length of fabric I might be permitted to cut and fashion into something for myself?” Bulma asked. If I can make Capsules, I can make panties.

“I think that would be permissible. Here, use this.” Beri handed her a short length of black fabric, the same liquidy silk. “This is intended as a hair wrap, but I hope it will suit your purposes. Do you require tools?”

“Scissors, needle and thread.”

“What are those?”

Bulma pursed her lips. This was something that had actually been bothering her even more than the lack of underwear. “How can you understand me? Don’t we speak different languages?”

“The 110th King Vegeta was a man of science and of intergalactic trade. He traded a powerful protection relic to a scientist from the planet Ecilps in exchange for an alteration to the atmosphere of Vegetasei – a chemical is present in our atmosphere and in what we breathe that allows for the free understanding of all language. The 110th King felt this would prevent spies from landing here, and would help decrypt enemy code.

“Interesting!” Bulma exclaimed. She already felt a lot more at home – on a planet that appreciated science, the scientist could serve a purpose. “So… why don’t you know what scissors are?” 

Beri smiled indulgently, “Some things, we don’t have an exact word for. You’ll have to describe it.”

Bulma quickly described what she needed and Beri, being the royal dressing woman, had all three. Bulma set herself to work and quickly fashioned a pair of comfortable panties from the black silk. Cute, too! I’ll have to think about a bra, later. Maybe.

“Those are,” Beri peered at Bulma as the blue haired woman did a twirl and angled her hips prettily, “strangely arousing.”

Bulma grinned at Beri. “Want me to make you a pair? Bet your husband goes wild!”

Beri flushed. “Perhaps another time, I should begin your dressing instruction now.”

****

After at least an hour of fold this here and never tuck this there and always finish with this end, Bulma was sheathed in gold. The fabric had been arranged full over her hips and with a tulip opening whose shortest point was at her knees and longest edges kissed the floor. Wound tight around the waist, but barely draped over her breasts, leaving a deep V of chest visable. The remaining length trailed behind her shoulders, like a caplet of liquid gold. Her hair was left down, long over her shoulders and straight.

Bulma wasn’t sure she could ever replicate the process, but she looked as good as she ever had. Maybe better.

Beri chose a gold bracelet with white stones inlaid and a matching necklace – a simple gold chain with another white stone, large and teardrop shaped.

Vegeta opened the door to the bathing chamber and stepped inside. Beri took two steps backward, away from Bulma, and greeted him. “Prince Vegeta. I believe she is ready.”

“Hm. She looks very … appropriate. Almost too appropriate,” he said, raking his gaze over her animally. “Shall I unmake you?” The flowing gold fabric hid nothing of her curves – her magnificent hips, the swell of her round bottom, two twin handfuls of her breasts just peeking out of the sides of the fabric that barely contained her chest – and suddenly, everything he wore felt too tight.

Bulma couldn’t help but crack a smile, as Beri’s hand rose to her mouth. “Uh, p-p-prince Vegeta, she only now finished and – “

“Calm down. I will leave her intact,” he smirked, devilish grin spreading, “for now.” As Beri breathed a possibly-too-audiable sigh of relief, Vegeta crooked his arm. “Come, woman or spy or dragon-sent temptress – let’s go trick a King.”

***

Vegeta’s royal housing was separate from, but on the same estate as, the King and Queen’s. Whereas his home was grand, comfortable and opulent – but still “home-sized,” the ruling family lived in an honest to goodness castle. Stone walls and high battlements surrounded an inner courtyard, and indoors – black marble inlaid with silver and plush velvet accents in jewel tones. Vegeta lead her by the arm through the massive gate and through the foyer – directly into the throne room.

King Vegeta sat on a high backed throne atop the dais. The throne was black marble and looked – well, uncomfortable, despite the seat draped with furs and cushions. Queen… Hey! What’s the queen’s name? Bulma thought. The queen, whatever she was called, sat in an equally high backed throne at her husband’s side, but hers was gilt totally in gold with jewels inlaid. A fluffy cushioned seat and back rest made the queen’s throne look much more comfortable, in Bulma’s estimation.

“King Vegeta, father,” the prince at Bulma’s side began, “and Queen Pea, mother. I have been instructed to choose a woman for the fasting, and I have done so. I choose Bulma Briefs of the Planet Earth. Please set the date of the antefasting battle immediately.”

King Vegeta flushed with rage, fists curling into tight sledgehammers. The man looked like Vegeta, but had time, height, breadth and strength beyond his son’s. Vegeta looked dangerous, sure, but the King looked positively murderous now. Bulma resisted the urge to run. She forced steel into her spine. She forced herself to remain still, not to quail, not to quake. She was Bulma Briefs – and Bulma Briefs is no coward.

“This is NOT,” the King boomed, “a GAME, Vegeta! You cannot seriously be presenting this weakling as your choice – she will die immediately in the battle for your fasting! Probably before that – any host of Saiyan women, real Saiyan women with power to match you – will kill her the moment they hear of this farce!”

Bring it, bitches. Bulma thought. Wait, aren’t I supposed to be happy about this rejection? It means I get to go back to Earth and Vegeta gets to go gallivanting off in the universe for another few years.

“I should have you JAILED!” The King continued his tirade, “I will have chains brought and you will sit in STOCKS for your disobedience, your disresp-“

The Queen placed her hand on the King’s forearm as he made to stand up. “Enough.” Queen Pea’s voice was calm, and smooth, and warm like caramel and carried through the throne room easily without blustering. “Enough.”

The King sat down on his throne, visibly calming and the ready-to-brawl tension leaving him at her touch. “Vegeta, my son. My firstborn Prince,” Pea spoke. “Is this your choice? Are you sure this woman is your choice.”

Vegeta straightened his back and looked his mother in the eye. “Yes… mother.”

“Vegeta.” Pea began to step from the dais and walk directly toward her son. Her skin was the same sunkissed tone as Vegeta’s and her black hair fell in a smooth waterfall to her hips. She was well muscled, but lithe instead of bulky and more feminine than Beri. She walked lightly, like a sprite or a spirit and she was beautiful. Her voice now carried a dangerous tone – like a mother who is giving her child one last opportunity to stop his fit before a punishment is carried out. The air around Vegeta began to crackle – Bulma could feel the electricity through their still linked arms. She watched as Vegeta continued to make eye-contact with the Queen, but also noticed a single bead of sweat begin to drip down his forehead. She squeezed his arm with her hand – to reassure him, to remind him that she was still here – and very breakable, she thought.

Vegeta gave Bulma a sideways glance and the barest hint of his cocky grin.

Queen Pea stopped, two steps in front of her son and Bulma. She stared at Bulma, analyzing her and with a haughty sniff, looking away and at Vegeta. She walked back to her throne on the dais, and arranged herself leisurely into a comfortable sitting position. She took her time, arranging this fold of her gown, fluffing that pillow, rearranging her jewels. The tension slowly melted out of the room, but no one spoke.

Finally, after the queen had settled on her throne, and placed her hand again on the King’s arm, she broke the silence. “I approve.”

Mouths dropped open, beginning with the King’s and ending with Bulma’s own. She what now?

“Mm.” The queen nodded happily. “I approve. This woman will have the right to battle for fasting to my son, the Prince Vegeta. I will announce the terms and date of the battle after consulting with the King in private. You are dismissed.”

Vegeta spun on his heels, wheeling Bulma around with him and made quickly for the exit, fury steaming from him in waves. He didn’t speak a word, not as they left the castle, not on the walk back to his quarters. It was night, sudden night, as whatever sun illuminated this world seemed to cower from the prince’s rage.

“Vegeta.” Bulma wrenched her arm away from his, but he gave no acknowledgement. “Vegeta!” The man continued forward, stomping back into his home. “VE-GE-TA!”

Wild eyed, he turned to face her in the doorway. “You’re going to die.” He turned away and went inside, slamming the door to his bedroom behind him.

Motherfucker! Bulma raced after him, banging the door open. “Don’t you walk away from me! Don’t you slam doors on me! Who the fuck do you think you are!”

Vegeta was standing at a small table below his window, glaring up at the castle through the dark of the night. “Who,” he growled, “the fuck do you think YOU are? I am the Prince of all Saiyans! I have killed, and battled, and fought for honor and glory all my life! What have you ever grappled with – a jar lid? A gown? You’ll be murdered, vivisected before my whole RACE because of me!” He snatched a crystal decanter from the table and smashed it against the wall, snarling in rage.

Bulma’s eyes were wide with anger, and fear, and shock as Vegeta tipped up the table, smashing everything on it and kicking the table into the wall, where it was obliterated into splinters. His tantrum continued unabated – walls, furniture, floor, nothing was safe as he radiated furious light and the waves of power coming from him peeled paint from walls and whirled papers and folders full of fasting candidates around him. He screamed, deep from a primal place within him, and Bulma could only stand – stuck to the spot – and watch.

Some object caught up in his furious whirlwind swung wide and struck Bulma in the forehead, hard. She fell backward onto the bed, and the bluster stopped.

“Bulma?” Vegeta’s voice was hoarse from the screaming, and quiet now from shame. “Bulma?”

“You. Fucker.” Bulma pushed herself up on one elbow to glare at him. “You son of a bitch. You fucker! This hurts!” Tears began to prick her eyes, from pain and from rage. “Prince of all Saiyans, big fucking deal. You throw tantrums like a baby!” Blood trickled down her face.

Vegeta crossed the room to the bed and sat next to her. “You bleed so easily,” he muttered softly, reaching down to wipe the blood away from her eye. “I do not…”

Bulma turned her eyes up to his, and was shocked to find sadness etched painfully into his features. She felt her rage begin to melt away, as he tucked her wild hair behind an ear and deftly wiped the blood from her face with a corner of the bedspread. His mouth was drawn into a hard line and he was scowling, but his touch was delicate – gentle and so, so careful.

“I did not intend for you to become injured. Not by my wrath, and not by the trick I thought I was playing. I do not wish to watch you die. I do not… wish for any harm to come to you.” He kissed her wound gingerly, then her nose, then her lips. “You are rare and beautiful, and such things should not die.” He kissed her again, gently, agonizingly slowly. “I will not ask you to forgive me.”

“Good,” Bulma breathed. “Because I don’t forgive you. And I’m not about to die.” She pulled him on to her, his weight delicious against her, and snaked one hand up into his hair. She kissed him again, his tongue surprisingly cool and light against hers. He ran his hands over the liquid smooth softness of her dress, fondling her breasts and tweaking her nipples as they peaked underneath it. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, as she felt the pressure of his hardness against her. He kissed her throat, down and down into the exposed V of skin that her dress left on display. He pressed his lips and his tongue to the flat of her breastbone, as if he could infuse her with some of his strength.

As if he could save her.

Bulma sighed and panted, arching her back against him as he wrapped one strong arm underneath her, clutching her tightly to his chest and running his tongue over her breast as he slipped the loose fabric away from her body. He picked her up from the bed and pushed the bodice and skirt of the dress away, and Bulma reached up to run her hands against his chest underneath the shirt of his suit. “Take this off.”

 

In a flash, Vegeta’s suit was on the floor, and Bulma was lying nearly naked in a pool of golden silk that used to be her dress. Only her silky black panties remained. Vegeta was on her in the next instant, running his hands over her and under her and down the length of her body, stroking her sensitive spot through the silken underwear, the sensation of softness on top of softness filling Vegeta’s erection with a powerful hunger. Slipping first inside her panties, he slid inside her. One, two strong fingers rocking in and out of her as his palm slicked against her nub, thrilling her until she squirmed and cried out, throwing one leg over his hips to thrust his hand deeper into her.

 

Vegeta pulled off her panties, then pulled her closer still, up onto one of his thighs so that they were pinned together – by each other’s bodies and each other’s need. He buried his face between her breasts, swiveled his hips and thrust himself inside her. Bulma wrapped her arms around his neck and he began moving inside her, more deeply and yet more slowly, savoring every smooth thrust into her wetness. Bulma pressed against him, moaning low and lustily. “Vegeta… more.”

He twisted his hips and thrust again, again. Twisting and grinding against her, lips and mouth upon her, tasting every inch he could reach and relishing in the way she tightened and tightened around him – the wet walls of her, lingering on and clinging to him in need and desire. She breathed and moaned and every sound he drew out of her pierced him moreso than the nails she drove into his back as she clung to him and cried.

The sweetest vice around him throbbed and shuddered while Bulma cried out and drove her teeth into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms underneath her, crushing her to him as he growled and moaned out his own release inside her.

He bent his elbows, hovering low over her, and kissed her again as he drew himself out of her, laying her gently on the litter of gold that gleamed now with their sweat and their scent. He cradled Bulma in his arms as she began to drift off to sleep, soothed in the afterglow of something that felt like more than sex.

“You will leave this planet tomorrow.”


	4. Scorpio

Day 4 – Scorpio

Bulma looked nothing like a Saiyan. That was problem one. In order to get her in a pod and off planet, the pod had to recognize the Saiyan. Each pod was calibrated to an individual Saiyan – for suspended animation terms, for life support sequences, for weight distribution and a million other things. Under ordinary circumstances, Vegeta would have bought a pod off a Saiyan of similar height and weight, and sent Bulma on her way.

But Bulma was not a Saiyan. Could he just grab a pod keyed to an adolescent around her size? Would that be adequate to support her long enough to get her home? Or would he just be sending her off into space with a pod that couldn’t keep her alive?

Queen Pea had yet to declare the day or terms of the antefasting battle, and a week had gone by. Daily Vegeta came up with a new plan, and daily he thought of a thousand reasons it wouldn’t work. He would have to consult someone with more technological expertise than he – but who could be trusted?

For her part, Bulma was going stir-crazy. Vegeta took his father’s tirade to heart, or at least the part where the King had pointed out the fact that any number of Saiyan women who had hoped to catch his hand may well kill Bulma. Challenges were issued frequently and fought bloodily every day in Saiyan society. It wasn’t illegal to kill an opponent who slighted your honor; it wasn’t even frowned upon. Because of this, Bulma was kept on the estate and spent most of her time in Vegeta’s royal residence.

Vegeta had not assumed any of his royal duties – did not take visitors, did not hear peasant pleas, did not adjudicate spats or honor matches. He was supposed to, of course, he was always supposed to. But he never had. The moment he reached the age of independence, Vegeta entered an arena fight and won. He went off planet and fought in every match, fight, tournament and exhibition he could find. He trained on every planet that interested him and made enemies – and a very few allies – on every one of them. He had killed as many people as he had saved, and nearly died a few times. He ran the galaxy wild and neither parent interfered. The King and Queen summoned him regularly, and he responded irregularly. When he was near, when he felt like it, when he missed other Saiyans.

So, mostly, Vegeta just hung around. He trained with Nappa and once or twice with his father, who could still kick the tar out of him. It felt… almost good to lose again. To discover there was still room to improve. To hope that one day, he’d grind his father’s bones beneath his boots. But mostly, he spent his time with Bulma – he learned her history and shared his, he learned her body and shared his. Still, she wouldn’t tell him exactly what she wished for from the Earth’s dragon to wind up nude, in his lap, light years from home.

And he obsessed about ways to get her out of the antefasting battle, or off the planet. He could take her himself, but that would mean exile on pain of death and the loss of his title and the right to assume the throne. That, he couldn’t do. And he couldn’t let Bulma die.

******

“You summoned me, Highness?” Daiku stood taller than Nappa and had a shock of hair jutting up at all angles from his head, great black unruly tufts that had never met a brush they couldn’t break. He stood in the doorway of Vegeta’s sitting room, and waited until Vegeta waved him in.

“Daiku. You’ve been off planet many times, you’ve a great many pods that your partners, woman and daughters travel in.”

“Yes, highness?” Daiku frowned. The prince was nearing his 30th year and he would need to choose a fasting partner soon. It couldn’t be that the prince wished for one of his daughters? His oldest would reach the age of independence, soon, but she was barely into her 18th sun cycle. His fasted woman, Beri, worked in Vegeta’s house as the royal dressing woman – she had cared for Vegeta and his guests for some 10 cycles, but surely she was older than he preferred and … and he would not part with Beri for any sum, on any pain. And what about pods?

“I’m in need of a pod, Daiku.”

“Your highness has many pods. Why should you need mine? Why do you ask of my woman and daughters?”

“I need to send a woman off planet. She is smaller than your oldest daughter and … and she is not a Saiyan. The woman is a scientist and feels confident that she can modify a pod that is already set for a woman similar to her size. This has weighed on me greatly and your Beri suggested I come to you and ask to purchase, or to trade for anything in my possession, the pod you have prepared for your oldest daughter’s 19th cycle.”

Daiku sat down at this, and put a hand under his chin. “And your highness isn’t purchasing a pod through the spacefaring authority for a reason.”

“This is… not against the crown, but not something it should approve of either. I have declared this woman as my choice for the fasting and the King and Queen have agreed – “

 

“But that is a joyous event, Highness! Why would you send her away?” Daiku exclaimed – nothing in this conversation made any sense – the prince had chosen a partner, and the King and Queen had approved! There should be an honorable battle and a great feast.

Vegeta clicked his teeth. Daiku wouldn’t understand until he saw the problem. “BULMA.”

“Can you not shriek at me?” Bulma burst through the door, ready to tear the prince a new one when she saw the giant guest sitting in the chair across from him. “Oh. Uh, hello.”

“Daiku, Bulma. Bulma, Daiku. She is the woman.”

Immediately, Daiku understood a little better what motivated the prince to send her away. She was tiny and while she was pleasing to look upon, she couldn’t stand up to his toddler – let alone a melee of men or women in the antefasting battle. She would die. Daiku scratched under his chin and considered the situation. He himself was the arena battle champion of Vegetasei.

“Come along with me, Bulma,” Daiku said at last. Vegeta rose from his seat, from body sprawled languidly across a couch to standing tall (relatively) with fists balled at his side. “She is not a possession I can trade.”

“Uh, I’m not a fuckin’ possession,” Bulma interjected, “at all. And who the fuck are you? And what the fuck is going on?”

Daiku laughed, a giant, mountain crumbling sound. “Are you certain, highness, that you must send her away? She is small and she is weak, but look at her pride.” He chuckled again, at these children so up in arms for themselves, for each other. “Please calm yourself, Prince Vegeta. I will swear upon my honor never to touch her – not in lust or in anger, so long as you live.”

Vegeta’s body went crashing down to the couch again, sprawled over it in his previous position, as if he had never moved. Evidently, an honor bound promise was a deep commitment and Vegeta was satisfied by it.

“My name is Daiku, Lady Bulma, and my fasted one has told me much about you,” he said, studying her. “She also left out much. The Prince has bade me smuggle you off planet and I have heard that you can modify our technology. I was only inviting you to stay in our home for the time it will take you to modify a pod. I have ascertained,” he continued, “that his Highness wishes this endeavor to remain secret from the crown, and so cannot take place here.”

Vegeta grunted in agreement.

“Vegeta and I have discussed this,” Bulma spat, “at length and I don’t intend to flee! I’m where I’m supposed to be, Vegeta.” She turned to him now, “And you will stop trying to send me away.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I am staying!”

“You. Will. Die.” Vegeta growled at her, for the fortieth time in the week. “I have told you again and again that you will be killed as certain as you stand before me if you attempt to go through with the antefasting battle. I have told you again and again that I do not wish to see that.”

“Then close your fucking eyes.” Bulma stood before him, hands on her hips, one legged jutted out at an angle. Take me to the man I’m destined to be with! Her words to the dragon rang in her head. Bulma believed in fate. Bulma believed in destiny.

“Bulma, I will fold you up and put you in the fucking pod myself.” Vegeta rose again and stepped in her direction. Daiku noticed that the woman did not shrink, did not falter. She leaned into her posture, and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Try it.”

Again, Daiku’s laugh split the house, and the tension, in two. Both Vegeta and Bulma glared at him ferociously, which only made him laugh harder.

“My Lord,” he began, wiping a tear from one eye, “would your time be better spent training the woman into a warrior than attempting to send her away? Even if I allowed her to modify one of my pods, she would like as not reprogram it to come back and land directly on this house.” Another bout of furious laughter rocked the furniture, and this time Bulma joined in. 

She would have done exactly that – if not on the house, on the castle.

Vegeta stared at them both as if they were completely mad, and strode out of the room before the madness caught him, too. He stomped away, lip twitching into an unbidden smile while Daiku and Bulma laughed even harder.

****

Daiku collected Beri and left, but not before giving Bulma some parting advice. “Stand your ground. Never sacrifice your pride. Train – you may be stronger than you think.”

Bulma puttered around the grounds, reading some of the books from Vegeta’s library, admiring the flowers in the castle’s garden, until the sun set. She busied herself after dark, making herself new lingerie and attempting to cook in the residence’s kitchen – one endeavor going quite well, the other… not so much. Eventually, the royal chef stepped in and made dinner for Bulma and the prince.

The prince was still sulking in his bedchamber, door locked. He hated being laughed at, and he hated when his plans went awry. Both had happened to him today and he was full of frustration.

“Vegeta?” Bulma’s voice at his door. “Vegeta, dinner.”

He paced to the door and flung it wide, hauling the woman inside. “Dinner? Looks delicious.” He nibbled her neck and Bulma giggled.

“Seriously, food’s on the table, come on.” She tried to pull their bodies apart, but he pulled her closer and slid one hand down the back of her pants. “I know you’re mad about earlier, but I wasn’t laughing at you – really, neither was Daiku. I think –“

“I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what you were laughing at. You’ve wounded my pride. How will you repair it?” He gripped her round ass in one hand, and took her hand in the other, navigating it down into the swelling in his pants.

“Oh, I have an idea.” Bulma smirked and dropped to her knees before him. She kissed his member once through the fabric before tugging it down and releasing him.

“Mm, it’s a good idea…” he muttered as she cupped his balls in one soft hand, licking the base of his shaft, running her wet little tongue around and around him, working her way from the base to the tip, slowly, before engulfing him completely. He groaned and swore as she took all of him into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside and keeping an excruciating pressure on him as she moved her mouth up and down the length.

“Mmm,” Bulma moaned as he began to knead her neck and shoulders with his strong hands before running them through her hair and back again. She worked him, wet mouth and cool, soft hand together, first slowly and then, as he began to tense before his release, more and more quickly. Before the frenzied pace tipped him over the edge, Vegeta bent his knees and scooped her off the floor, dislodging himself from her mouth with the tiniest pop.

He laid her on the bed and laid opposite of her, crooking one leg over her head as she crooked one leg over his. “I’m starving,” he growled before burying his face between her thighs, the fingers of one hand pumping in and out of her as he devoured her sweetness and she resumed her attentions on him. She was dripping wet, like the most delicious over-ripe fruit he had ever tasted. Her hips began to quake underneath him and he could feel her tenderness quivering under his tongue. The sounds she made – he would eat her entirely, the way she carried on and spurred him forward.

Underneath him, Bulma continued licking, sucking, fondling him. She relished the way he groaned, the way she could feel him in her mouth, jumping and throbbing. He was close to the edge and so was she when suddenly he thrust his fingers in deep and sucked hard on her clitoris, and she came in his mouth and around his hand. As she cried out, she pulled him deeper into her mouth and squeezed his shaft with her tongue. He came and she swallowed, still running her tongue on the underside of him and tickling his balls gently as she continued to suck him until he growled and lost his grip on her ass – he threw his head back and rumbled deeply.

Finished, she swiveled around and snuggled against him. “Ready to go have dinner?”

“No thanks, I just ate,” he chuckled in her ear.


	5. Waterfall

Bulma was panting, sweating, lungs screaming for air, legs burning from within. Her face was flushed tomato red, much darker than that peachy pink flush that Vegeta usually saw on her face. He watched her, no more than an arm’s length away, burning up in and at her breaking point.

“Enough,” he said, disappointed, dropping the focus mitts from neck height to his waist. “You’re exhausted.”

Bulma sat down immediately, bonelessly, and struggled to catch her breath. She wanted to take Daiku’s advice to train, but this might kill her long before the antefasting match ever arrived! Today was only day two of her training and she already looked forward to just dying in the battle.

She’d begged to join Vegeta in his morning katas for days, and the previous morning, he had finally woken her up when he left the bed they shared at sunrise.

“Get dressed,” he said, groggily. “There’s a training suit that should fit you in the bathing chamber. I will not wait.” And he left the room, just like that.

Bulma had dressed quickly as she could, pulling on a black suit like his blue one, and boots with grey tips like his own that were tipped in gold. She tied her hair back with a bit of string and ran to catch him as she heard the residence’s front door opening - he really was going to leave without her! Dick! she thought, running down the hall.

“I’m coming!” she called out, racing after him out the door. She looked left, and right, and left again. He was gone already! How the hell did he get out of here so fast! Dick! Bulma called out, “Vegeta!”

“What?” His voice, above her by 10 feet, from his body, floating there. “Let’s go.” he inclined his head toward the training grounds behind the castle and nearly parallel to his residence - though perhaps a mile away. He rocketed away from her and into the not-very-distant horizon.

“I CAN’T FLY, JERK!” she screamed after him. Now she’d have to run the hillocky mile over the field to the training grounds, and she’d have to be quick about it or risk embarrassing herself. She groaned in displeasure, but sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her.

Bulma wasn’t in bad shape, certainly, but years of cigarettes and opulence and of being trapped in a laboratory don’t exactly hone your body into the picture of athletic prowess. She was nowhere near the performance level that she needed to be to sprint a mile. Vegeta will probably just kill me himself, rather than have a wife who can’t run a lousy mile! Bulma could feel fury at herself building up and she kept pumping her legs and arms as the training ground drew closer and closer.

And then a hole, like a gopher’s hole on earth, caught the toe of her boot and she went hurtling toward the ground, face first. She threw out her hands and screwed her eyes shut. Any second now, she’d slam into the ground and probably break her face. …Any second now. Bulma hovered, maybe an inch off the ground, with Vegeta above her and his hands under her arms. She dangled there, eyes screwed shut, waiting for an impact that wouldn’t come.

Vegeta began to chuckle, shaking her hanging body with each laugh.

Bulma growled, “Put me down. Put me down!” So, Vegeta did, but he kept laughing.

“The would-be warrior princess of all Saiyans - dead of a broken neck after falling in a hole.” He continued laughing; and laughing! Laughing as if this indignity was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in his life! Bulma cocked her arm back and shot it forward, open palm making good contact with Vegeta’s cheek.

The slap rang out, sharp, like a shot across the open field and Vegeta stared at her.

Bulma glared at him.

Vegeta sank down into a fighting stance, but left his arms wide. “Come on.”

Suddenly, Bulma understood the game. After he accidentally injured her a week ago, and after he’d made it up to her, Vegeta explained that the majority of Saiyans drew their own strength through a deep feeling - of rage, of lust, of protectiveness. He had told her that his own power was dangerous when he was enraged, that rage was the easiest of his powerful emotions to access.

He was trying to make her angry. Leaving her behind, making fun of her. He was trying to help her.

So, Bulma ducked down like she’d seen Chichi do a thousand times, in tournaments and when she was going after Goku for one thing or another. Unlike Chichi, Bulma balled her hands up into fists. She’d taken boxing classes back on Earth once or twice, just to exorcise some of her frustration when managing Capsule Corp was at its most irritating, and had practiced judo long ago, when a kidnapping attempt had rattled her. Goku had saved her then, but she knew she would need the ability to protect herself at some point.

She smirked and double stepped forward. Vegeta easily out maneuvered her. She shot her fists out, two quick rabbit punches that, of course, didn’t land. She advanced, again, again and he danced around her. She slid, struck, boxed, dipped and even kicked - landing nothing for what felt like hours. In her building frustration, she yelled, “STAND STILL!” and Vegeta stopped, stock still, as stepped forward. She put her shoulder into his collarbone, snatched up a fistful of his suit at the elbow, crooked her arm under his and with an almighty effort, flipped him over her shoulder.

“HA!” Bulma crowed, staring down at Vegeta. “Got you!”

“Because I stopped moving. A real opponent isn’t going to stop just because you say so.” He said, still smug. Bulma panted, sweating. She was done for the day and he hadn’t even started. “I still need to train. You need to take a break. Will you go back to the residence?”

“No.” She crossed her arms and pouted prettily. “No, I won’t.”

“Fine,” he said, rising to his feet and then into the air, lifting her with him. “Then come see what you’re facing.”

Vegeta took off with one arm under her rump, the other tightly wound around her waist, and flew directly to the training grounds – which looked like nothing more than a large black marble surface but it was enormous. Vegeta’s entire residence would fit onto the flat surface four times over, easily. It seemed fairly basic other than that. It was uncovered, outdoors, with four black pillars, one in each corner of the square “stage” and one white tower in the dead center. The marble stage was not level with the ground beneath it, but elevated about three feet from it. Vegeta set her down about five feet from the black surface and strode forward, stepping up onto the stage.

Bulma followed him and could make it no further than the edge of the gleaming obsidian. There were no walls - but try as she might, she could not cross the threshold of the training stage. “Vegeta, what the hell?”

Vegeta stood above her, on the stage. Bulma looked up at him, aggravated. If only her thin body could match the strength of her impervious glare, he thought. “The training grounds have a different gravitational field from the rest of the planet. The barrier keeping you out is in place to keep children with low power levels out - they will otherwise be crushed. You…” Vegeta hesitated, not wanting to compare her to a child, but it was apt. “Your power level is inadequate for entry.”

Bulma put her hands on her hips. “Rude.”

Vegeta shrugged, spreading his hands, “That’s the way it is.” He turned away from her and made for the center of the grounds, where Nappa and Daiku were sparring. As Vegeta neared them, both fighters stopped, landed and bowed, capitulate to his superior rank and strength. The three fighters acknowledged each other and then began to brawl – all out, fists, fangs, feet, flashes of brilliant light and a host of screams to accompany all. Vegeta was brilliant – literally, he shone with waves of light as Bulma watched him fight, rapt as she saw Vegeta transform from her taunting, sometimes daunting lover into a furious fighter.

He easily could have killed her out in that field.

Nappa and Daiku also fought ferociously and it wasn’t long before blood was shed. Eventually, Nappa and Daiku both landed on the ground, held their right arms high above their heads with their palms flat and heads bowed. Surrender.

Vegeta nodded his head, accepting their loss, and buzzed off to start another fight. Both Daiku and Nappa approached Bulma and sat at the edge of the training grounds. Both men were so tall, their feet stretched out before them despite the elevation of the marble.

“Is this your first time seeing him fight?” Nappa asked.

“Yes, technically.” Bulma admitted. It was not the first time she’d seen Vegeta’s violent side, nor was it her first exposure to his power, but she didn’t think the Prince would want people to hear about his little tantrum.

“Technically,” Daiku repeated, wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously and jabbing his elbow into Nappa’s side.

The giants laughed a little at that and Bulma snorted sarcastically. “Don’t be crude.”

“That’s like telling him not to be Saiyan!” Nappa bellowed, still amped up from the fight. “We’re all pretty rough around the edges, you know. Are you sure you want to be the queen of the crude?”

It actually hadn’t occurred to Bulma that she might one day be the queen – assuming that was a thing? She guessed that Vegeta would one day be the King, Beri had explained that much to her, but she wasn’t sure she would be a queen. Didn’t Earth royalty work a little differently from that? Bulma cocked and eyebrow and racked her brain, thinking about how royalty actually worked back where she was from.

“Nappa!” Daiku said angrily. “See what you’ve done, now she’s seriously wondering if she wants to be Vegeta’s queen!”

Nappa paled and now it was Bulma’s turn to laugh. “I am not! I was thinking about the way royalty works where I’m from, and I don’t think an outsider who marries into a royal family automatically becomes royalty.”

 

“What’s ‘marries’?” Nappa asked.

“Oh, that’s what we call the fasting at home.” Bulma explained.

“Oh. Well that’s idiotic,” Nappa retorted.

“Uh, I didn’t invent the word.”

“No, I mean the royalty thing. If the King or Queen or Prince decides on someone as good enough, and that person proves themselves in combat, why shouldn’t they become royalty?” Nappa said, with a tinge of pride – clearly, his people’s way of thinking was superior. “When you are fasted to Vegeta, you will be the Princess of all Saiyans. When his father and mother die, become weak or abdicate, he will become the King Vegeta and you will be the Queen Bulma.”

Bulma pursed her lips, “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Daiku confirmed.

“Neat.”

***

Daiku and Nappa went back to their training and Bulma wandered the perimeter of the training grounds, watching the Saiyans. There were children, women and huge men in clusters and alone all over the black surface. Some fought on the ground, some fought in the air. Some blasted waves of energy – the waves looked like light from some, like fire or ice from others. Green beams, yellow beams, red beams, blue beams. She heard Vegeta’s voice more than once before blinding flashes of royal aubergine light blasted from one place or another.

She studied the fighters all the morning long, and she found two things to be true.

The first is that the Saiyans possessed a kind of genetic power that no Earthing could match.

The second was the absolute certainty that she would die fighting one of them.

As Bulma came to the second conclusion, she felt tears begin to prick her eyes. Why would the dragon send her here just to die? Was this really her destiny? To meet the man of her wildest dreams… and to die before she could really even know him?

 

Before she could get too depressed, Bulma clapped her face between her hands in a hard slap. I’m Bulma Briefs! I can find a way.

As she began to think about building herself some kind of steel exoskeleton, Beri approached her from behind. “Lady Bulma?”

“Beri! Hi!” Bulma thought about asking Beri if she knew where to get steel and welding equipment, but Beri looked a little flustered. “Here to train?”

“I train in the evenings, after the Prince has retired for the day. I am actually here for you, Lady.”

“Oh, Beri,” Bulma sighed, “Will you please just call me Bulma?”

“That’s not appropriate. When Vegeta selected you, you received a title.”

“Nappa doesn’t call me Lady.”

Beri rolled her eyes. “Nappa,” she snarled, “Wouldn’t know ‘appropriate’ if I struck him with it.”

Bulma snorted. Beri was, of course, completely right. The women laughed together, until Beri suddenly clapped a hand over her own mouth. “Lady Bulma, I came to get you! You must come back to the house now and change out of that suit. The Queen has summoned you.”

“Is it the battle? Has she set the day and time of the antefasting battle?” Bulma suddenly felt like a little rabbit amongst wolves – no amount of training, no amount of judo classes, would close the gap between her and any one of the warriors training behind her.

Beri placed a hand on her arm. “I don’t think so, Lady. Vegeta would be summoned for that, too, and to the throne room. The Queen Pea has summoned only you, and to her garden for the midday meal.”

It was late morning now, and Bulma would need to shower and fix her face and find something to wear and she would kill a man – kill a man dead – for just a tube of red lipstick. But again, Beri gently touched her arm. “I have your clothing prepared and a bath drawn, jewelry laid for your selection.”

Bulma smiled at her friend. However different they may be, deep down, a woman knew a woman’s heart.

**

Bulma stood in the royal garden, draped in gossamer white arranged like a tea dress, the same gold bracelet with white stones on her wrist and a pale pink scarf around her throat. Beri had no idea what “cosmetics” were, and Bulma had discovered that Saiyan women didn’t make up their faces. They were partial to jewels and scarves, adornments for the hair, and other trappings, but didn’t change the appearance of their natural looks.

But, Bulma was a scientist and nothing was beyond her making. She took an inkstone and the thinnest paintbrush Beri could find at a moment’s notice, and from it made her own eyeliner and mascara. She raided the kitchen and found little red fruits, which she crushed and strained, boiled and strained again, until she had a lip stain in her favorite ruby red.

Not bad for a planet that doesn’t have a single palette of makeup! Bulma thought to herself. The results were subtle, but enough to boost her confidence.

“On my planet,” Bulma had explained to Beri, “All women have a battle shade of lipstick. Whether you mean to attract someone or stop a meeting dead when you walk in, a little polish goes a long way.” She winked and Beri dabbed her own mouth with the red stain. “You do battle with facepaint?”

“Sometimes!” Bulma laughed.

And now, standing in the garden, Bulma felt glad she had it. There was a little cart with covered dishes, a small table made of gilt marble, and two chairs. Near it, Queen Pea stood – tall and resplendent, wrapped in sapphire blue silk with her long, raven hair flowing in the little breeze around her. As Bulma stepped toward her, the Queen raised a hand in greeting.

Bulma did a little curtsey. “Queen Pea. You summoned me?”

The Queen laughed. “Summoned?” Her laugh was light and warm, like the day that surrounded them. “Beri really is the most dutiful and proper Saiyan. I invited you. Invited you to have a meal with me, in my garden, so that I may know you better.”

Bulma breathed the nectar sweetened air a little easier. “I’m happy to do that, Queen Pea.”

 

“Please, come and sit.” The Queen gestured to a chair and Bulma stepped around the table to take it. “My son,” she continued, “is very possibly the strongest Saiyan ever born. He has some … hang ups that prevent him from releasing that strength unless very desperate, but don’t tell him I said that.” Her voice carried an almost conspiratorial tone and she leaned over the table to Bulma.

“Is he very cruel to you?” Pea whispered.

“No!” Bulma said, instantly. “No, he isn’t cruel to me at all.”

 

The Queen inclined her head, just slightly, just barely betraying her disbelief. “Your head is injured.”

It was true that the cut on Bulma’s face had not healed completely and she still had the lightest bruise and a single healing cut. “That – he – well, you see – “

“And,” the Queen cut her off, “I watched him taunting you on the field earlier.”

“I insisted he train me! He was trying to help me, I think.”

“And,” the Queen continued her list, “He tried to send you away.”

Bulma’s mouth fell open. How could she have known that?

“Ah ha! So he did try!” Pea said triumphantly. “That one was a guess.” Her smirk was very like her son’s. “I think it best, Bulma, if you’re honest with me.”

“Vegeta is not cruel to me. I cut my head when – well, technically it was some debris that cut my head – and he was responsible, but,” Bulma sighed. Surely Pea knew her own son. It wouldn’t dishonor him to tell her, would it? “He threw a tantrum when we came back from the throne room after he announced me as his choice. He was in a rage and I think he lost control of his power. He didn’t intentionally strike me.”

“I see,” the Queen mused in her honey warm voice. “Do you know, the last time he was out of his own control, he destroyed his entire residence and it was the King who had to battle him for hours to spend that energy?”

“I didn’t know that, no.” Jeez, Vegeta. “What was the cause?”

“The death of his brother in an arena battle. We were all much grieved,” Pea confessed, sadness stealing the sunlight from her voice. “His brother was smaller. Younger. Had just barely reached the age of independence, and like Vegeta, decided to enter an arena battle. Tarble was his name.”

Bulma couldn’t help herself – she reached out and laid her hand on the Queen’s own, which had flopped lifeless to the tabletop as she spoke her dead son’s name. Pea turned her hand over and held Bulma’s for an instant, before resuming her story and returning her hands to her lap.

“Vegeta was in a rage, and I have always thought that he secretly blamed himself. Tarble idolized his brother, and that is why he entered the battles. But he died honorably, and we speak his name with great pride.” The Queen straightened a bit. “How did Vegeta regain control of himself?”

“You mean after this?” Bulma pointed to her head. “I fell down from the impact and everything stopped. I ripped him a new one and, uh… well, we made our peace with it.”

 

“You yelled at him?” Pea raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah.”

“And he stopped his rage?”

“He had stopped just before that, I think. I guess I don’t remember exactly.”

“Mm. And today, you know, I was watching you play and you actually threw him! With your little body! I was amazed.”

Bulma laughed, “Vegeta says I cheated. I made him stand still a second because I was just so tired of him dodging everything. Really, he gave me that one.”

“Made him? How?” the Queen said with wonder overmuch.

“Oh, I just yelled at him again, I guess! ‘Stand still!’ I think I shouted.”

“Ah, a woman’s irresistible words, I suppose.” And the queen hid a smile, a warm, turning to uncover the food from the little cart. “Let’s have a little sustenance, and then, I think I would like to hear about your childhood.”

The Queen uncovered dishes of greens, fruits and what looked like a large, rare roast, and to Bulma’s surprise, began serving her. “Um, your Highness? Should I serve you? Or myself?”

 

“My son is, and likely will always remain a fool,” Pea said with a sigh. “He hasn’t taught you any of our customs or manners, has he?”

 

Bulma blushed hotly, fearing she’d offended the queen. “Not… much?”

“Well, in the royal houses, the highest ranking individual serves all those she outranks their first plate. Seconds, thirds, fourths and drink are all a free for all, though. The rule applies to man and woman, of course, though I doubt Vegeta has served anything to anyone in his life. It is a sign of welcome and respect, neither of which Vegeta offers very often.” Pea handed her a heaping plate before beginning to arrange one for herself. “The custom is fine when it’s two or a few, but imagine the banquets! For years, you know,” Pea leaned toward her, conspiratorial again, and very endearing, “I had to walk around serving everyone alongside my king. We would be starving! But then I realized, if we just showed up late, after the first service was made, we would only have to serve each other!” she tittered then, her laugh like the bright tinkle of windchimes in a summer breeze, and Bulma joined her in a little giggle of her own.

Bulma and Queen Pea ate heartily – Bulma was famished after her morning of training and lack of breakfast. Something about the food on this planet must be somehow incompatible with human biology, Bulma thought, for although she ate as much as she liked, she always seemed to be hungry in these last two weeks. Since she’d only been on the planet for perhaps a month, it was possible her body just wasn’t used to the caloric difference yet. But the food was tasty, when anyone other than Bulma prepared it, so she was happy to eat her fill with abandon.

As they cleared their plates, Bulma told Queen Pea about her childhood adventures through the world, about searching for the dragon balls, about meeting the little wild boy Goku who would become her best friend. Bulma told Pea all about Chichi and little Gohan, and at length about Yamcha, and even about his straying eyes.

Queen Pea clicked her teeth at the last. “That doesn’t happen here. Terrible civilization to allow it – where is his honor?”

“No one cheats here?”

“What,” asked the Queen, “is ‘cheats?’”

“Uh, well, it would be like what Yamcha did, or worse, becoming physically intimate with someone not in the relationship.”

 

“Absolutely not!” the Queen was aghast. “Absolutely never. Some Saiyans take multiple fasted partners, but all parties must agree and they are free to share themselves with each other, but Saiyans don’t ‘cheat’ on their fasted partners. How could they? Their honor is staked on that, and what a dishonor it would be to betray someone who risked their life for you.”

“The antefasting battle, you mean?”

 

“Yes. That is part of the battle’s significance. It proves the honor of the fighter, and makes the keiyaku between partners fast – like glue between two pages in a book, the keiyaku is not easily rent asunder.”

“Keiyaku?” Bulma asked. “We don’t have that word, I guess. I don’t understand it.”

“Oh. Well, the keiyaku is…” the Queen stalled, “it is… a sacred emotion. It is the feeling between fasted ones. A fierce need, a devoted protection, the desire to see them always, the notion that their death would be as if the sun were snuffed out, the keiyaku makes it feel as if your heart has been plucked out of your chest if your fasted one is in battle or experiencing injury… it is very sacred to us.”

“Love?” Bulma asked.

“What is ‘love?’ Is that your word for the keiyaku?”

“I think so; it sounds like the way I would describe love.”

“Then, you know the emotion! Do you feel the keiyaku growing between you and my son?

Bulma blushed again, red in the ears and face. “Well, I. Well, you know I…”

Queen Pea stared back into Bulma’s eyes with such motherly love, such womanly knowing. “You do. You feel the keiyaku!” She clapped her hands together once. “When the Prince brought you before us, I knew what he intended. To defraud his father into a few years freedom, of course. My son is wily.”

She knew the whole time. Bulma’s eyes widened and the Queen chuckled lightly. “Of course I knew. He is my son and I am the reason he is wild – I took him on many travels and many adventures from the time he could walk. I have a great wanderlust, as well, and he is my son.” Pea smiled, recalling fondly the time she had spent with her child among the stars. It was the best time of her life, one she wished to experience again soon.

“But beyond that trick, I perceived something. A strength in you that could appeal to him. A fondness for you that had already begun to grow in him. And so, I approved of the fasting. You will have to survive the antefasting battle, but I know you can. Look hard within yourself, you already possess every strength you will need to win.”

Queen Pea stood from the table, as the afternoon shadows grew long and one specific shadow drew down to the ground and her son’s boots alighted on the ground beside Bulma, who shivered when he placed a hand on her shoulder, surprising her.

“Queen Pea, mother,” Vegeta said, warily. “Why was I not summoned?”

“Vegeta,” the Queen smiled, closing the distance between them and placing a hand on his cheek. “It has been a great many years since you wished to have your meals with me.” She winked at Bulma, then took to the air and flew directly through the opening door to the castle and into the King’s open arms, who kissed her when she was near enough.

“The antefasting battle will be held in 24 days, on the night of the next full moon.” Queen Pea announced from her place near the king, the darkened doorway of the castle framing her like a stained glass window.

The King spoke next, “In consideration to the woman’s size and strength, the battle will not be a melee. It will be one on one, and Bulma need only remain standing for one minute.”

Vegeta and Bulma both let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. One fighter! I don’t even have to hit ‘em! I can just run away for a minute. Bulma thought she saw light at the end of the tunnel.

“However,” the King continued, “in consideration of her pride and honor, the fighter will be one of our best. Arena Champion Daiku.”

The King shut the heavy door, just as Vegeta lobbed an energy wave at him, with a great scream of rage and pain. The door stood fast and the conditions were set.

I’m gonna die. Her face fell. What hope did she have, against that mountain of a man?

Vegeta swept her up in his arms and rocketed away from his residence, from the castle, his face buried in her neck as he began kissing her there in the air, wrapping her in his energy to keep her aloft as he ran his hands under her dress and along her body. He wanted her away from the spot where her death was decreed. He never should have touched her. He never should have looked at her. She never should have come here.

But it had happened. And now, Vegeta could not deny that he needed her with a terrifying ferocity, would not part with her under any circumstance. He flew her up, high up and away from everything, hidden from everyone but the moon, cradled in clouds and mist – iridescent and pale, like her skin underneath the dress she wore. She looked around, eyes wide with fear.

“Do you trust me?” Vegeta asked her. “Do you trust me with your life?”

Bulma threw her head back and felt the warmth of his body against her, the heat of his energy all around her. “Don’t drop me.”

“I will never let you go.” He growled against her throat. “I will cripple that Daiku at training tomorrow. I’ll tear his arms off,” he said, stroking her own arms with his hands. “I’ll tear his legs off.” He ran one hand up her thigh. “I’ll tear his throat out,” he promised, with his teeth on her neck. “I will never, never allow anyone to hurt you.”

They were high in the night sky, against a sliver of moon, and Bulma wrapped her legs around his hips and let her body fall backward. She was free, and she was afraid. Of the height. Of her feelings. Of the battle to come. Her heart rabbited against her chest and she could feel the tears coming. A raging river built inside her.

“Nothing will hurt you. Nothing will hurt you, ever, ever so long as I live.” He placed one strong hand in the small of her back, and watched the way her nipples peaked under the gossamer fabric of the dress she wore. He hiked her dress higher, up over her hips, kissing every inch of skin as he exposed it. “Never, never,” he whispered against her skin.

He was afraid, truly afraid for the first time in his life. Lose his honor & lose his title, or lose her? “Never, never, never,” he whispered to her, and to himself. Her body, dangling from his, looked dead already in her despair. He kissed her here, there, everywhere he could reach. With his free hand, he stroked her body, trying to soothe away her fear – soothing his own with her warmth and nearness.

In the night sky, among the stars of Vegetasei, he entered her as if it would be the last time he touched her. Bulma cried out as he brought her back to life and she tightened her legs around him. He drove deeply into her, grasping her with desperate hands. She felt him inside her, the pressure sweet and the heat intense, even though the sun was long gone. High above the treetops, they sent each other over the edge in ecstasy. They let their fear and love rage until both surrendered to the reality of it, as gravity forces the river into a waterfall.


	6. Ape

The day arrived. Not just the next day, not just the day after, but the day – the antefasting battle would be fought in 12 hours. Bulma and Vegeta had spent every hour of the last 24 days together – Bulma insisted that Vegeta give her at least SOME training, so Vegeta taught her every single dirty trick he knew.  
Sand in the eyes, hand in the eyes, fingers hooked into the mouth, leg sweeps, where to kick to elude the pressure guards of the fighting suit, where to jab her scythe-like hands, to scratch, to bite, to fight dirty…

He hoped he was teaching her to survive.

She knew she would be fighting for her life.

Bulma ate Vegeta out of house and home for weeks – she blamed the training regimen, but Vegeta genuinely saw no change in her strength, even as the weeks stretched on. When he wasn’t training Bulma, he took her to the training grounds and made her study Daiku’s movements, his range, his attack style. Vegeta made Beri attend, made her take notes.

“Is my son very cruel to you?” Bulma remembered the Queen’s first question to her.

No, Vegeta wasn’t cruel to her, but how could he make Beri do this? Bulma and Beri were friends, Beri and Daiku were fasted. She was caught between the two of them, and eventually Bulma asked for Beri to be excluded from the visits to the Training Ground.

“Vegeta, it’s cruel! And if it isn’t cruel, it’s unreliable – how can I trust that she’s taking notes that will help me hurt Daiku? I would never give anyone information that could hurt you!”

Vegeta realized that Beri, even dutiful Beri, might feed them bad information to protect her fasted one’s honor. Beri was dismissed from trips to the Training Ground, and she seemed grateful.

Bulma studied Daiku, and she studied the Saiyans. And she read all the books in Vegeta’s library. And she began, just barely began, to formulate a plan.

“Look hard within yourself, you already possess every strength you will need to win.” That’s what Queen Pea told her. She had had no training, then. So, what could the queen have been talking about?

Bulma wished she could ask her, but the one time she’d tried to enter the castle, she’d been tossed out on her pert behind.

“Lady Bulma, we cannot allow you on the castle grounds and we cannot tell you why until after the antefasting battle. Please leave,” a guard around Vegeta’s height but bald as Nappa explained to her, “before we are both in grievous trouble.”

Bulma lurked around the grounds, peeked into the castle gardens and even tried to climb a wall, but each time the guard found her out, and threw her out. She stopped trying.

Instead, on this final day, she decided to just put her theory to the test. She started small, and tried to work the experiment into the daily training exercises that Vegeta put her through. She waited until he left her to work on her own katas, a shortened and modified version of his own, and then watched him.

He tended to zone out when he trained, the heat of the battle building within and around him, until he forgot her presence and his own body. She waited until he was moving at a blinding pace, faster than she could see and she yelled out suddenly, at the top of her little lungs, “VEGETA, STOP!”

Vegeta froze, one leg in the air – in the middle of the apex of a high sweeping kick. He swiveled his head and looked at her like she was absolutely out of her mind.  
“What, woman?” he yelled, bringing his leg back to the ground. “Are you in pain or are you just insane?”

“Uhh… nevermind?”

“Tch.” He clicked his teeth, and started his katas from the beginning once more. Bulma again let him pick up the pace, body rolling faster and faster against his invisible foe, at first pretending to resume her own training and eventually just watching him and waiting for his frenzied pace to reach its peak once again.

And once again, she yelled out at the top of her lungs, “VEGETA, STOP!”

“WOMAN. GO AWAY.” He yelled back at her, still as stone and frozen in place. “You’re being deliberately irritating and I am not in the mood.”

Bulma grinned at him then, the first proof of her hypothesis obtained. She turned on her heels and made for his royal residence. First, she would have lunch. Next, she would run another test.

***  
Vegeta came home long hours after her departure, crabby and frustrated. He wanted to find Daiku and rip him limb from limb, to keep Bulma safe, but he knew that he couldn’t do that – it was an insult to Bulma’s honor, to Daiku’s honor, and would end in the forfeit of his title – worst of all.

After the antefasting battle was announced and Vegeta held Bulma to calm and comfort them both, they had returned him to find a red lettered notice on their door. It was from the King and it decreed that should Vegeta even so much as spar with Daiku in the 24 days leading up to the antefasting battle, he would lose his title and be permanently exiled.

Vegeta weighed his options, now and then, and still couldn’t make up his mind. Was the woman worth losing his right to ascend the throne? What was the throne worth if he could never produce an heir – for Vegeta knew, had known since that night in the sky, that he would never couple with another woman. However it happened, for whatever reason, he felt bound to her in the strongest sense of the terms. And then, of course, came the last question – would Bulma ever be able to bear that heir? She wasn’t a Saiyan, and Saiyan pregnancies are difficult on even Saiyan women.

He had been in turmoil for weeks, and he hated it. Never before in all his life had he felt so lost.

He peeled off his suit and stepped into the bathing chamber. He cranked the taps to their hottest and stood underneath the stream. He let his mind wander, not forcing his thoughts in any direction, just letting his mind fire whatever thoughts it had into the abyss. When he had been at war, leading King’s army against Cold-era invaders, oftentimes his best strategies came to him at times like this, almost meditating.

He stood under the streams until they ran cold, but no brilliant strategy came to him. Still irate, he wrapped a cloth around himself and left the bathing chamber. He realized, slowly, that he couldn’t sense Bulma in the residence. He felt panic beginning to rise in his chest, balling sourly in his throat.

“Bulma?” he called out, striding from the room. “Bulma?” No answer. He strode into their bedroom – not there. Into the kitchen – not there. Into the dressing room, into the library, into the dining hall, into the sitting room – no Bulma, no Bulma, no Bulma.

“Did she run away?” he thought. "Did she leave me?“

***  
Bulma confronted the guard that was keeping her out of the castle. “Look here you, I might die tonight! I need to talk to the queen.”

“I could die right now if I allow you access to the castle, or to the queen, Lady Bulma.”

Time to try experiment two. Bulma thought. “Say, what’s your name?”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “My Lady Bulma, I have been instructed on pain of death not to give you my name, nor to speak with you any further.”

Shit. Okay, experiment three.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

The guard jumped and sidestepped, out of Bulma’s way for an instant before jumping directly back in her path. “Please… please Lady Bulma, leave.”

“Interesting.” Bulma said aloud. “Thank you.” She left down the path, retracing her steps the way she came.

When she walked through the door of the residence, she could hear Vegeta calling her name from his sitting room in the back of the house. He sounded strangely panicked. “Vegeta?”

He came racing, boots striking the poor abused flooring with iron footfalls. “I couldn’t feel you anywhere – I thought – nevermind, where have you been and what have you done to yourself?”

“Huh?” Bulma looked at him in pure confusion, “What now?”

“You are different, I have been scanning this house and this whole area for you and I can’t feel you – not even now with you before me – it’s like you’re a ghost.” He said, horror creeping into this voice.

“Vegeta,” Bulma said softly. “I’m not a ghost. I don’t know why you couldn’t sense me, but I was up at the castle, and I’m here now.” She placed her tiny hand on his bare bicep. “Vegeta, I’m here.”

“I thought… you had left,” he turned away from her and began to walk back down the hall, toward his sitting room. He wore just a cloth – something like a towel – around his waist.

“Vegeta, stop,” Bulma said softly.

And so he did, one foot in the air.

“Vegeta, look at me,” she continued, closing the distance between them and placing both her hands on his chest before pressing her body against him tightly and tipping her face up to look in his eyes. “I will never leave you, not willingly, not ever. I love you.”

She dropped her hands from his chest and circled her arms around his waist. “Your mother didn’t understand the word love. Do you?”

“Keiyaku,” he rumbled from deep down in his chest.

“Yup.”

“I… feel that, too,” he admitted, and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. “I have never felt it before.”

Bulma smiled, pulled away, and took him by the hand into his – or their – sitting room. “Come here, Vegeta. Let me teach you how to say I love you.”

He followed her, almost meekly, obediently. She sat him down in a massive chair, but not before pulling off his towel. And there he sat, like a marble god, like a heathen king, erect and waiting for his queen.

He smiled, teeth predatory and white, one eyebrow raised, chest rising and falling rapidly in his anticipation.

Bulma began to undress herself. She started by untying the scarf at her throat, which she tossed at Vegeta. He reached up and caught it languidly, bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply. It smelled like his woman.

She pulled the end of the seafoam green wrap that she was cocooned in, and once loosened, it easily fell away from her perfect body – long legs, lithe arms, alabaster skin, red lips and her eyes like stars. Vegeta couldn’t look away as she took the few delicate steps to close the distance between them and draped herself across his lap. She leaned her head back against one of his broad shoulders, her perky breasts facing away from him.

Instantly, he covered her beautiful breasts with his strong hands and dipped his mouth into her neck, to nip and suckle her. She wriggled in his lap, brushing his hard length with the softest, wettest, silkiest substance he had ever felt.

God, she felt incredible, he thought, crooking one strong thigh underneath her bottom as she rose up before sinking slowly back down on him. That same, sweet pressure he had come to crave enveloped him more fully than he’d ever felt.

He was pinned under her as she pistoned up and down, her little body taking all of him and more. He rocked his hips up hard, to plunge into her again and she ground her hips down against his, swiveling her hips and gyrating excruciatingly. He could feel the pressure building inside him and felt her tightening around him as she continued to rise and fall on top of him.

“Vegeta,” she whispered into his hair, letting her head fall back down to his shoulder. “I love you.”

At the touch of her warm breath, Vegeta felt his erection throb, tense, release inside her and he tightened his arms around her as she cried out and came, her velvety womanhood quaking and shivering.

“I love you,” he growled, pleased with the sound and pleased with the way his woman smiled when she heard it.

***

It was time. Vegeta outfitted his woman in a battle suit he had made just for her, concealed armor atop all her vital points, in royal purple. Her boots were gold, tipped in white.

They parted at the castle, he going up to sit in an ivory throne above the gathered Saiyans in the castle courtyard, between the King and Queen .

Aside from the royals, there were hundreds of Saiyans gathered around the ring in which Bulma would battle Daiku. They bet, they drank, they cheered, they booed - the whole scene a raucous party, and after - whether she lived or died - they would feast and carry on long into the night.

Bulma swallowed the lump in her throat. She hoped she was as smart as she thought she was.

The King and Queen stood, and a hush fell over the assembled Saiyans.

“Saiyans!” The King’s voice rang out. “You are here to witness the battle that will fast this woman to my son, your Prince, for life! May she fight with honor.”

“Saiyans!” The Queen’s crystalline voice called. “Now you will witness a battle like none other. Bulma Briefs, the chosen partner of your Prince has everything within her to win this battle against even our mightiest champion, Daiku!”

At this, Daiku entered the ring. He did not speak to her. He stood still, eyes closed.

Vegeta growled murderously, and his parents took their seats on either side of him. The king placed one hand on his son’s shoulder. “Everyone must bear this, my son.”

Simultaneously, the King, Queen and Prince shouted: “BEGIN.”


	7. Chapter 7

“BEGIN!”

Bulma wanted to run away, she wanted to hide, she wanted to beg for mercy. She did none of those things.

Vegeta wanted to launch himself from his seat, to enter the battle, to rip Daiku apart and let his blood wash over the ground. He did none of those things.

Daiku wanted to refuse to fight. He wanted to throw the fight. He wanted to leave Bulma there, unharmed. He did none of those things.

“BEGIN!” once spoken, the command rang out over the assembled crowd and could not be unspoken. The battle would need to be met.

Daiku launched himself forward at Bulma – he would not drag her agony out needlessly. One light punch to the most heavily padded part of her suit should be enough to incapacitate her without killing her. He hoped he would not kill her.

Closer and closer, Daiku flew toward her, but Bulma felt the half-second stretch out into an eternity.

_You have everything you need inside you._

_I will swear upon my honor never to touch her – not in lust or in anger, so long as you live._

_VEGETA, STOP!_

It was time to test her theory.

“DAIKU, STOP!” Bulma shouted with all her might, all her willpower, all the strength she had in her tiny little frame.

The entire Saiyan audience jumped to their feet, stone silent. King Vegeta’s eyes were wide with disbelief, Prince Vegeta’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, mouth agape, frozen and breathless. Of all the Saiyans gathered, only Queen Pea, hiding the barest hint of a smile under one hand, remained unmoved by what she saw before her.

In the fighting ring, Daiku had frozen in place. One leg lifted in his blitz of a run. One arm swung forward and aimed at the dead center of Bulma’s chest. Less than one hair’s breadth separated his fist and her breastbone.  

That would have been enough to draw jeers, cheers, jibes and still more betting – but it wouldn’t have dumbfounded the entire audience. That, however, wasn’t the only thing that had happened.

Bulma was glowing, surrounded by a radiant, royal purple light. Ki rolled off her in waves and she hovered above the floor by six inches. Her head was thrown back and as soon as Daiku froze in his assault, she spoke.

Her voice was not her voice – it was amplified and multiplied, as if three Bulmas spoke at once. She lifted her head and pierced every listening ear through its owner’s heart with the force of her voice.

“DISHONOR.”

Daiku glared at her. She, floating off the floor, was finally at eye level with him now. “What?” he choked.  _Is she impugning MY honor?_ Daiku felt a fury growing inside him.

“YOU ARE DISHONORABLE.” Bulma’s glowing form continued to accuse him. “YOU SWORE NEVER TO HARM OUR MOTHER FOR AS LONG AS OUR FATHER LIVES.”

From high in the stands, ever Saiyan’s hair stood on end. The King whipped his head around to stare, disbelieving what he was hearing, at his wife. She smirked at her King, who flopped down to his throne – the mystery solved for him. Prince Vegeta never looked away from Bulma, not even to blink, never once as she continued to speak.

“DISHONORABLE ONE. DO WE SPEAK UNTRUE?”

Daiku dropped out of his fighting posture, straightening his back and trying to compose himself. The fury which had nearly blinded him a moment ago began to melt away and was replaced by something wholly different. He bent at the waist, and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

“No, no, you speak truly,” he sputtered, still chuckling. “I swore never to touch your mother in lust or in anger for as long as your father should live.”

“THEN IT IS A DISHONOR FOR YOU TO FIGHT HER NOW.” Bulma’s form continued, her eyes a soft lilac in color and the brilliant aubergine light around her still flickering and flaring out around her. Vegeta choked and sputtered, trying to understand, trying to process what he was seeing.

_Her ki has been different._

_She has been eating more than even I._

Daiku’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “You are… very young. I am not fighting her in anger, nor am I conquering her in lust. This is an honorable battle and I am filled, especially now, I am filled with joy. There is no dishonor in this match for me.”

“I SEE.” Bulma’s body spoke. “THEN IS THERE HONOR HERE FOR OUR MOTHER?”

“Yes,” Daiku replied. “She has already satisfied the conditions for her victory, since you have kept her standing for one minute. There is honor in battle for all Saiyans.”

“GOOD.” At that, Bulma’s ki flared to the highest point of the ceiling and she shot forward, punching Daiku once – hard – in the belly, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to his knees. He held one arm up high over his head, palm open.

Surrender.

The courtyard erupted into screams and cheers, a great throng of Saiyans began to chant PRIN-CESS-BUL-MA! PRIN-CESS-BUL-MA! The King and Queen broke into wide, wide grins and called out over the din, “VICTORY! THE FASTING IS DECIDED! HAIL THE PRINCESS BULMA! VICTORY! THE FASTING IS DECIDED! HAIL THE PRINCESS BULMA!”

Vegeta flashed and in an instant was at Bulma’s side, as the light around her dissipated and she fell to the ground. Her blue eyes fluttered – her own blue eyes – and she looked up at Vegeta. “Did it work?” she asked him, before falling fast asleep in his arms as her new people rioted in joy around her.

***

When Bulma came to, she was on a plush, ruby red couch. She was wearing her Saiyan battle suit. She was alive.

And she was confused.

She remembered yelling, she remembered Daiku freezing on the spot, like Vegeta had done many times, like the castle guard had done many times. Bulma’s theory was that Saiyan men were weak to screaming women. After all, when Vegeta heard her yell, he dropped everything. The guard, even on pain of death, had been frightened enough to jump out of her way. She had intended to just scream at Daiku for the full 60 count and weasel out of the fight that way.

But instead, she’d blacked out and when she came to, she was here.

She blinked and looked at the room around her. Plush, red velvet furniture and a gilded four poster bed under a massive leaded window, easily 16 feet tall, drapes drawn open and the night sky in full, glorious view.

A knock came at the door. “Come in.” Bulma said softly, sadly. She assumed she had just fainted dead of fear, losing the match, embarrassing her and dishonoring Vegeta. Would she ever see him again? Would he even want to see her, after such a miserable performance?

Beri entered the room with two armfuls of Bulma’s favorite liquid silk fabric, this time in an intense eggplant purple. “Princess Bulma, you’re awake! Thank goodness, thank goodness. Are you alright? How does your body feel? Do you hurt anywhere? Would you like a drink, or some meat, or should I just go find the Prince?” Beri dumped the fabrics on the bed and rushed toward Bulma in her flurry of questions and concerns.

“Beri… I thought you would hate me? And what happened in the match?”

“Hate you?! Princess, you are my greatest treasure – the greatest treasure of all Saiyans!”

“I’m so confused.”  
  


“That,” Vegeta growled from the doorway, “is because no one can ever explain anything properly around here. Including you.”

_Huh?_

“Beri,” Vegeta addressed the dressing woman. “You are excused for one hour. Do not return early. Inform the King and Queen that we will be down to the feast at our leisure.”

Beri smiled warmly at Bulma and nodded dutifully at Vegeta, then excused herself.

“How. Did you. Do that.” Vegeta snarled, his voice dark.

“Do what? Vegeta, are you angry with me? Did I lose? Did I dishonor you? Why is Beri calling me Princess now? Why is she so pleased with me?”

Vegeta’s face softened.  _She didn’t know._

“Bulma… you won. You struck Daiku once in the belly, dropped him to his knees and he admitted defeat.”

“WHAT?”

“Do you not remember?”

Bulma sat down on the edge of the bed. “I remember going to the match. I remember Daiku rushing at me. I remember yelling at Daiku once, to stop. And then I remember waking up on that couch.” Bulma pointed to the couch the Vegeta stood next to. “I don’t remember punching Daiku or winning or anything else.” She frowned.

Vegeta crossed the remaining space between them and snatched her up off the bed, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly.  _His Bulma. His Princess Bulma._

“Bulma, you could have died. What was your plan, to shriek at him until his died of his deafness?”

“You do what I say when I yell at you.”

“Because of the keiyaku, you little fool.” He held her more tightly, kissing the top of her head.

“The castle guard did what I said when I yelled at him.”

Vegeta frowned, but before he could ask her what she meant, he felt his mother’s energy in the room. He released Bulma and turned to face her as she walked into the room and sat upon the couch.

“Hello, children,” she smiled warmly. “Do you have questions or would you like to be left alone?”

Bulma blushed, longing to be alone with Vegeta, but he was already crossing over to sit in a chair facing his mother.

“What,” he demanded, “is going on?”

“Vegeta, have you ever heard of the Saiyan Gemini?”

“No.” He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

“It’s very rare, my son. Very rare and very strange. And very powerful. From a one in a million Keiyaku, sometimes two babies can be born from the same wombtime.”

“Two WHAT?” Bulma shouted. “Two what? What did you say?”

“Don’t be afraid, my girl, it is clear that they are bonded strongly to you already.” The Queen smiled, reassuringly.

“Two what? What?”

Vegeta had not spoken.  _She was always hungry. Her ki was different. Her commands were irresistible to Saiyan men._

“Bulma is…” Vegeta trailed. “Bulma is… Bulma is…”

“Oh children.” Queen Pea tittered, rising from where she sat and crossing to Bulma. She took the younger woman’s hands in her own and lead her to sit on Vegeta’s lap in the chair he seemed stuck to. She took her seat on the couch once more and looked at both of them.

“Bulma is with child. With children. She is exhibiting all the signs of the very rare Saiyan Gemini.”

“I’m…” Bulma began.

“You’re…” Vegeta said.

“Congratulations! The King and I are so pleased.”

Bulma began to cry, but not in sadness, in overwhelming joy as the most gentle aura of plum colored light began to emit from her belly. Her twins were telling her hello. Vegeta placed his hand carefully, carefully, so carefully on her glowing middle and the light expanded to cover his hand and up his arm.

“I think,” Bulma laughed tearfully, “I think they’re saying hello, daddy.” She wept and wept. Vegeta’s hand shook.

Queen Pea addressed them both. “I knew Bulma was pregnant the day I saw the two of you playing in the field. When a Saiyan woman becomes pregnant, her words become irresistible commands to any male Saiyan they’re aimed at. When you told him to stop,” she looked at Bulma, “he stopped. We evolved this way to make our very difficult and dangerous pregnancies a little easier – it keeps our big, dumb lovers from accidentally harming us.” She laughed. “I didn’t realize it would happen in a non-Saiyan woman, though.”

Bulma and Vegeta both looked very young, the Queen thought, as they hung on her every word.

“But the Gemini! That shocked me today. You were in absolute mortal peril and your babies took over your body to protect you. They will be powerful. And brilliant!” She clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait to meet them!”

The Queen gathered up her skirts and made for the door. “Come down to the feast, soon!”

Vegeta and Bulma just stared at the door, long after the Queen had closed it behind her.

***

Vegeta was on top of her, behind her. She was twisted underneath him, one leg crooked protectively against her swollen belly. She needn’t worry, though – Vegeta was twice as protective of his soon to be born young.

He slid one hand over her belly, up and over her round breast and up the ivory column of her neck. He stroked her cheek with a thumb as he stroked in and out of her with a burning need.

Her long blue hair flowed over her shoulder and lay like strands of the finest silk on the bed. Vegeta listened to the soft gasps of her breath. He watched a delicate pink flush bloom on her cheeks.

_My Princess. My Bulma._

Bulma felt him flow deeply into her, deeply and gently and she moved one leg to engulf him more fully. He slid in and out of her, building up the speed and depth. His hands caressed her, and he bent over her to steal a kiss.

_My Prince. My Vegeta._

They clung to each other in love and in passion, in desperate need for the other – as always. But something new had developed in these last few months, in addition to the twins growing strong in Bulma’s belly. Their lovemaking came with a sense of peace and of home. That no matter where they were, as long as they were together, they would be home.

He nuzzled into her neck, aligning their bodies with such exactness.

_She was made for me. My perfect one._

Bulma could feel him more deeply than ever before and as he ground against her, she cried out in pleasure and happiness.

_Take me to the man I’m destined to be with!_

Vegeta felt her tense and relax, tense and relax around him, and he let go inside her with a growl like a purr from the back of his throat.

Bulma was home. She couldn’t wait to welcome her babies, and introduce them to their father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Keiyaku! I am currently working on a less smutty, more angsty, much longer form sequel called Kotonari. Read it as it comes out here on AO3 or catch me on Tumblr for BTS action and insights @emmaekay


End file.
